An Abstract Poem Written By My Speech-to-Text Generator, Which Tends To Interpret Involuntary Noises As Words.

1. Once worn loose, little-schooled for the one little fear-king.

2. Union in the one (the ox), she murmured. A woman, eastern coast: looms who can to machine to machine to machine are the mountains loom

 3. Lose money in whom? Bull and Finch will. She/He Looked at the city being heard in the gloom.

4. Better to him in an inference clean instruments- only to appeal and retain! Only can the community can let him win in the little May, gloomily use a felony resolving the name.

5. Great many control noon, and new, and old; who are illegal? Unique gloom: new in a little who will (little) in the morning when sing you Quietly- did you know we’re late? for family and length are king and who; and who


I’m not sure I like my makeup, but I’m pretty proud that I got out to shadow, this afternoon!
I’d like to be able to do darker, more-gothy makeup, but I really don’t want to push my luck and get in trouble so anyone with tips on gothy looks in the medical field, hmu It’s fascinating how people react to other disabled people working in the health field. One woman accompanying a patient kept insisting that I sit while she stand, despite me repeating that I’m there to study and I would prefer to stand where I can see over the practitioner’s shoulder. This seems to be a recurring theme, too, like another woman who tried to drag me off for tea. Amazing how, even when you have authority over other’s care, people insist on telling you about your own​ care???? It rubs me wrong and I can’t explain it.

the reason why a lot of insults are said to be bigoted, is not because people are just overly sensitive and making a too big deal out of nothing.. it’s actually because society is so systematically bigoted and oppressive that it is treated as insulting to be associated with marginalisation or a specific minority… and it is simply brought up now because a lot of us are finally getting a platform to express discomfort with our marginalisation.



(PS. I have a youtube.)

(PPS. OH YEAH… this is my ugly mug.)

We are not seen as human. 

Our bodies are perceived as graveyards, as tragedies, as a terrifying what-if. 

They are scrutinized from top to bottom. 

They are specimens in a lab. 

They are broken. 

They are pity.

We are seen as unlovable. Unfuckable. Undesired. Unwanted.  

Objectified and thrown away. 


We see our bodies- our lives- played out for laughs and tears on screen. 

There is no dignity in being an oddity. 

Privacy is not a luxury we have. 

There are too many eyes.

Curious, unforgiving eyes. 

We are gossip at a dinner party. Our stories are whispered as small talk when they think we cannot hear. 

Our stories are taken from us.

They try and fix us.

Our broken, beautiful, unfixable bodies.

And they don’t ever succeed.

We try and wash off the words.

Wash off the pity.

Pray the steam will ease the pain.

Grieve for the identities we’ve lost. The identities we never had. We welcome the news ones that were born.

We have been poster children and freak show attractions.

Prisoners and studies.

We have crawled our way to justice.

We have taken pride in the taboo.

Reclaimed our lives.

Mastered the art of being broken.

So beautifully, perfectly, pridefully broken.

Every scar, every bruise, every useless muscle.

Until there is no more shame to wash away.

         -on being crippled. on being proud.